That tree on the left was a beautiful pink tulip magnolia. Magnificent and perfect for two boys to climb. Alas, it was strangled to death by wisteria. Yes, you heard me right. Read "The Giant Wisteria" by Charlotte Perkins Gilman if you don't believe me. But I was young and innocent when it came to the garden and I thought the wisteria, cloaked around the tree like a necklace, was beautiful. But it killed the tree like the most merciless killer in an Agatha Christie mystery. Later I planted a weeping cherry blossom tree in that spot, and it brings the Spring every year. Black-eyed susans still smile under the fir tree. Though they are more spare, shade will do that. And the red roses still bloom every Memorial Day. That prize winning yellow dahlia has never been reduplicated, though I remembered it in a painting, "Nude Woman With Dahlia". The bluejay is emblematic of so many that have made our house their home, nesting in the upper rafters of our front porch. Our house has grown old along with us. How I cherish it and all the memories, inside, outside and yet to come.